Hate

by Laurel Curtis

  “Alright,” he agreed, taking a sip of his water before finishing. “How about I’m in love with you?”

  Unable to speak with my chin on the table, I sat silent.

  “Good enough for you?”

  The cruelty of his statement ate all the way into my bones. So much so that I couldn’t even respond.

  Instead, I pushed back from the table in a rush, making a mad dash for the bathroom, leaving him and my grandmother sitting there speechless.

  MY HANDS WERE SHAKING, AND the evidence of a cold sweat trickled grossly down my back.

  I saw a woman looking back at me in the mirror, but she didn’t look like the me I knew.

  She looked scared. Broken. Unbelievably unconfident.

  She reminded me of the girl I saw the night I’d dyed my hair.

  I’d worked years to build a persona so opposite those things that the sight of it staring back at me refused to sink in. I couldn’t accept it, I couldn’t understand it, and I struggled to figure out where it was coming from.

  A challenge. I’d given one to Blane, and he’d done me one better by saying the one thing I never thought he’d say.

  The one thing I couldn’t categorize as true.

  I wasn’t unrealistic. I knew he wouldn’t be doomed to love a ghost for his entire life, that he’d move on from Franny one day, find some beautiful, smart woman to fill all the voids in his life.

  But from where I was sitting, that woman wasn’t me.

  We’d been through so much together, that even putting it into words seemed unjust.

  We’d woven our way in and out of friendship, and beyond that, in and out of each others’ lives. He’d gone a fucking decade without me. Why should I believe that he needed me now?

  The door busted open, Gram’s sharp voice cutting into the now open room like a razor. “Thanks, but now you’re not needed. See ya.”

  I could see a man’s upper body leaned into the door back first, clearly holding it open for the wheelchair-bound maniac, but he beat feet as soon as she said the word.

  And then it was the two of us. In a room with no windows or other obvious escape routes.

  “Crap,” I muttered aloud, drawing a teeny tiny smile from Gram’s peach-glossed lips.

  “Yep. Spill it. You ran out of there like a gosh darn marathoner, and me and those extra fifteen pounds you’re carrying both know that’s not the case.”

  Self-consciously, I tugged on my body-hugging shirt. I guess I should be glad she didn’t say twenty.

  “Oh stop. Men like a little cushion. Less likely to get stabbed by one of your bones when they’re—”

  “Okay! Now you can stop.”

  “—holding your hand. Man, you’re a dirty one, aren’t you?”

  My eyes rolled naturally.

  “Some advice, NeeNee,” she started, using her annoying nickname as a way to exert dominance, “When a man tells you he loves you, you say it back. At the very least, you throw out a thank you. But you never, ever, ever, run away like he just killed your kitten or, I don’t know, something really horrible like ate the last pickle.”

  “Gram, you don’t even realize—”

  “I realize more than you think.”

  I’m sure that was actually true.

  “But I’m so wrapped up in this. There’s way more to this story than a simple I love you, I love you back conversation. When he said that out there, it felt like a fucking bomb. I literally thought my chest might explode, so you’ll excuse me if I came in here to do it where the tile walls are easier to wipe down.”

  “Hmm,” she pondered, her hands clasped gently together in her lap. Pointing to the ceiling, she declared, “This is what we’re going to do.”

  “This oughta be good,” I breathed on an exhale. She didn’t falter. Whether it was because of lack of hearing or apathy, I had no idea.

  “We’re going back out there, and you’re going to agree to go on a date. If nothing else, he’s one extremely good looking fellow, and if you don’t scoop him up, I will. I know a few more things than you in the experience department, but I’m thinking your look is more his taste.”

  “Gram—”

  “You’ll ignore the declaration of love. He seems bright, and if your running in here didn’t do the trick, ignoring the subject will. But you’re going on that date. I don’t like the idea of you being alone forever, and with the way it’s been going, this seems like your only shot.”

  “Wow. Straight through the heart.”

  “Oh please. You like it blunt. If I tiptoed around this you’d be ignoring everything I said. Which is unacceptable. Now, putting it to you this way, I know you’ll listen.”

  “You’re alone,” I shot back, feeling a little stupid for bickering with a ninety year old woman.

  Really mature on my part.

  “I’m alone because I’m old, and my husband is dead. That man out there is very much alive. God willing you’ll get a solid sixty years out of him before he kicks the bucket.”

  “Not everyone lives until they’re old,” I argued, knowing it was all too true.

  Gram didn’t blink. “Not everyone dies young.”

  She spun on a wheel, opening the door with ease, and shot out of the room. Obviously she forced some poor fool to help her before just for the kicks because she managed just fine on the way back out.

  I followed her out, not stopping to look at myself in the mirror even one time or splash water on my face. I knew if I did, I’d falter, and I’d put off reality for long enough.

  When I got back to the table, they were both there waiting and greeted me with overly big smiles.

  Gram’s was scary, but Blane’s seemed genuine. Which really, was even more frightening.

  “Sorry,” I murmured softly, not sure what I was taking responsibility for—running to the bathroom or ignoring the subject all together now that I was back.

  Either way, Blane didn’t seem to mind, his blue eyes assessing but unsheltered.

  He didn’t try to hide himself from me, and he didn’t look like he was in the middle of a level five fuck up.

  He looked like himself. He looked like the guy who shoved a book in my face in seventh grade. Only way more clean cut. His hair almost seemed to swoop in the front, just long enough to style, but far too short to hang in his face. His eyes shined bright like always, the lines of his face more mature and hidden under a subtle layer of facial hair.

  And his posture was fraught with maturity and experience. His body moved like he’d been through it all, and from what I knew, he had.

  The man across from me, warmth and realness in his every movement, had been through the loss of an unborn child, the death of a parent, and the far too early demise of a lover. He’d been to war and back, and he put his life on the line fighting the people who killed his father day after day.

  He cried when warranted and laughed even more, and all of that in one man, looking at me the way he was looking at me, was almost too much.

  My hands shook, and I just barely managed to keep the tremors from shooting straight up my arms.

  So I did it before I couldn’t. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, his neck cocked forward as though he hadn’t been able to hear me.

  “I’ll go on a date with you,” I repeated, louder this time.

  He cocked his head again, squinting his eyes and leaning in.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  Angry, nervous, and shaken, I yelled, “Yes! Yes, I’ll go on a date with you!”

  He leaned back in one swift movement, so fast that he almost rocked forward again, and smiled. “Excellent! I really love your excitement.” He looked to the woman beside us—the same one to whom Gram had given her adult diaper tutorial. “She’s just glad I finally agreed to go out with her.”

  Outraged, I leaned forward and pointed to myself. “You finally agreed to go out with me?! Are you delusional?”

  “Come on, baby. Everybody heard yo
u.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  He smiled huge, the apples of his cheeks kissing the corners of his eyes. “You told me one day some lucky girl was gonna call me an asshole a lot. I’m really hoping it’s gonna be you.”

  He turned casually to Gram, and raised his thick but groomed, dark brows. “Looks like I’m off to a good start.”

  For once, I had no come back. The memory of the night we’d met Franny was so vivid in my mind. I had told him that. In fact, we’d been arguing in much the same manner as we had been two minutes ago. I’d had no idea that night, when I told him he’d find a girl to insult him for the rest of his life, that I’d want to be that girl so badly.

  It was amazing how much life worked like a river, carving a path, twisting and turning and washing away all kinds of sediment. If one way wouldn’t yield, it carved another.

  Often you were just along for the ride, but every now and then it dumped you somewhere beautiful. Somewhere you didn’t expect to find and wouldn’t be able to find again if you tried to do it all over.

  DINNER HAD BEEN RELATIVELY QUIET. Looks were exchanged, and Gram made comments, but for the most part, Blane gave me a pass. Maybe he could tell that my brain was working overtime, or perhaps since he’d sealed the date he felt like he’d won. But mostly he seemed to watch me, his eyes perusing the lines of my face as I transitioned from one thought to another.

  I felt unbelievably exposed, but I managed to fight the urge to turn away or hide.

  But, from a glass half full perspective, I’d eaten a real meal, not some stupid ball of fluff with fewer calories. And he hadn’t batted a lash. In fact, he acted so nonchalant, that I questioned whether men in the past had really noticed, or if it had been all in my head.

  Blane walked just ahead, Gram and I on each of his flanks, the heat from his strong body radiating backwards enough to touch me.

  We ground to a halt, the wheels of Gram’s chair skidding slightly as Blane checked up in front of us.

  He turned to me, surprise and humor in his eyes as he asked, “Did you just grab my ass?”

  Astonished, my head snapped back, my chin dipping significantly into my neck.

  My answer was absolute. “No!”

  Because while I’d been studying him carefully, I knew without a doubt that I hadn’t groped him. In fact, I hadn’t even gotten to the ass part of my perusal.

  We stared at one another, laughter and confusion bouncing back and forth for several seconds before it clicked. In unison, we turned, looking down to an anything but ashamed elderly woman.

  We didn’t even have to say anything. She gave herself up with zero chagrin.

  “What? He’s legal.”

  My eyes widened, crawling to Blane comically.

  He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck with an open hand. “Fondled by the wrong woman. Only at a dinner with your family, huh Elbow?”

  “Just be glad All My Children is off the air. She’s still got General Hospital to reference, but the impact is significantly lower.”

  “I have no idea what you just said,” he decreed, dumbfounded.

  Right. Soap Operas weren’t normally in the day to day for badass type guys.

  “Let me put it to you this way,” I said through a heaving breath. “I’m surprised she didn’t grab your junk.”

  His eyebrows inched their way up his forehead, and his blue eyes widened to the point where the white completely surrounded his blue. Meanwhile, his hand moved slowly from its place at his side, whether on purpose or by design, and covered the front zipper of his jeans.

  I laughed, wholeheartedly, the rumbling vibration of my chest a long forgotten friend. “So I guess there is some sort of line then. Good to know.”

  Timid, at least for him, he asked stiltedly, “A…line?”

  My top teeth hooked on my lower lip, and a wink slipped one of my eyes closed before I even realized what I was doing. “How many times a day is it that men think about sex?”

  He shook his head slightly before jimmying his eyebrows and admitting, “A lot. More than you can probably even imagine.”

  “As I suspected,” I clucked cockily. “I was just noting that there is a gross out factor, or a line that’s not to be crossed so to speak. Elderly junk handling doesn’t fall into one of your fantasies.”

  “I’d say not,” he agreed, glancing at my grandmother out of the corner of his eye.

  She heard us, of course. But she didn’t let it bother her. No, not Gram. Not one bit.

  “No worries. I don’t need consent.”

  Surprised, I turned to her and practically squeaked my indignation.

  She laughed, shaking her head back and forth and confiding in Blane, “She never could take a joke.”

  “I take jokes just fine,” I argued.

  She ignored me, and exercised the part of her memory that still worked and often came back to haunt me. “I tried to get her to stick her hand down your pants years ago.” She waved me off, my very presence ridiculous. “Wouldn’t go for it. You’re gonna have to wear her down.”

  My cheeks turned red, the memory of my fingers wrapped around him slamming into me with the ferocity of a tiger at full speed.

  Now it was Blane’s turn to wink. He spoke to Gram, but his eyes looked right into me. “Something tells me it’ll be worth it.”

  My lower abdomen spasmed, and I clenched my legs against the rush of anticipation.

  Needless to say, I didn’t hate the thought of it. Not even a little. Not even at all.

  STARING OUT THE WINDOW AT the scenery as it flew past me, I stayed silent for the entirety of the ride home from the restaurant. It wasn’t that I was upset, or too nervous to talk, it was just that my mind was racing so fast I couldn’t fit a word in edge wise.

  It’s a funny thing when the voices in your head outtalk you.

  Blane pulled easily up to the curb in front, putting the truck into park and killing the ignition.

  He gave me a brief smile, just enough to work my mind into a tailspin again, and then hopped out, heading to the back in order to retrieve Gram’s chair.

  I jumped down from my side, opening the door in the back that gave me access to Gram only to find her asleep. If I hadn’t been so in my head on the way back, I would have realized that it’d been too quiet for her to be conscious.

  In an effort to avoid startling her, I placed a gentle hand on her knee and whispered to get her attention. “Hey, Gram.” Her eyes fluttered open, the confusion that overwhelmed their chocolate immediately bringing on a rush of sadness.

  I fought through it and smiled, explaining, “We’re home.” As Blane wheeled her chair up the concrete panels of my sidewalk, I informed her, “Blane’s gonna help get you out for me, okay?”

  She shook her head yes, but I could still she was still working to clear some of the fog in her head. I bit my lip to ward off unwanted tears and backed out of a waiting Blane’s way.

  In addition to her confusion she seemed tired, so I didn’t delay Blane as he lifted her gingerly into her chair and then turned to head for the house. I closed the door behind him, and then jogged to get in front so that I could unlock the door.

  He waited patiently as I searched for my key, inserting it and disengaging the lock, pushing the door open, and then stepping inside to hold it open for him.

  Maneuvering the chair over the doorstep was always a chore for me, but Blane made it look easy, making sure to move slowly enough that she didn’t get scared, but quickly enough to make it efficient.

  Once inside I took over, murmuring, “I just have to help her get ready for bed.”

  I didn’t know if he intended to stay or to go, and I honestly didn’t know which one I wanted more. I was all mixed up inside.

  But when he answered, “Take your time. I’ll be right here,” his eyes softening and the curve of his mouth becoming just slightly more pronounced, I had my answer.

  It felt good.

  I hadn’t wanted him to leave. I f
elt like the night was still unfinished, and his easy agreement lifted an invisible weight off of my slender shoulders.

  I nodded my thanks, pushing Gram slowly along my gleaming wood floors toward the bathroom at the end of the hall. I got half way there before I turned back, calling, “You can make yourself at home, you know. The living room. The kitchen. Even the back deck can be pretty nice this time of night.”

  He looked up from his boots, smiling. With a mesmerizing nod, he shoved away from the wall, and told me an all at once gratifying and terrifying, “Thanks, baby.”

  My feet wanted to stop, but I forced them to keep moving. I forced myself to turn my head back down the hall and wheel Gram forward like he hadn’t just changed the game, sticking on unarguably intimate endearments to the end of his sentences.

  Instead, I focused on the task at hand. Once I was involved, it wasn’t hard. Taking care of someone who’s started their decline back to dependence isn’t easy. It isn’t easy for you, and it most certainly isn’t easy for them. The trust involved in giving up your freedoms to someone else, letting them make the decisions, and even relinquishing the control over the most simple of tasks, is one of the hardest aspects of growing old to ante-up.

  It’s humiliating and degrading, and there’s a certain sadness to it for all parties involved.

  But Gram usually made it easy, teasing her way through the hard stuff and smiling through the rest. She laughed often and teased even more frequently.

  Not a moment spent with her, even in these seriously depreciated, age-worn years of her life, wasn’t worthwhile.

  I firmly believed that.

  As the door closed behind us, I worked diligently to rid her of her lightweight jacket, hanging it on the handle of the chair as temporary storage.

  She sat so somber, so much more so than usual that I had to ask if she was alright. “You okay, Gram?”

  “Depends on your definition,” she answered vaguely, moving to help me by slipping her arms out of her sleeves in order to pull her cotton t-shirt easily over her head.

  “Well…” I said, uncertain of what she wanted or where to go from there.